


Fourth of July

by Animal_Arithmetic



Series: Upon These Golden Sands I Built My House of Dreams [18]
Category: Supernatural, The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff and Humor, Fourth of July, Geralt Protection Squad, Geralt is so done, M/M, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, slight homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22748488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animal_Arithmetic/pseuds/Animal_Arithmetic
Summary: The Rivias go to the lumber yard's Fourth of July party.There's obnoxious t-shirts involved.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Upon These Golden Sands I Built My House of Dreams [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614880
Comments: 53
Kudos: 563





	Fourth of July

**Author's Note:**

> Ask and ye shall receive!

Mark had an impressive house with an even more impressive back yard on the outskirts of town. He always invited all of his employees and their families to a barbeque for the Fourth of July and there was even a sign-up sheet for people to bring certain items for the potluck. When told about it, Jask demanded to be signed up for a pasta salad.

That, of course, meant that _everyone_ saw the Rivias on the sign-up sheet and _everyone_ decided they needed to say something about it. It almost got to the point where he wanted to take their name off the damn sheet, but Jerry just barely managed to keep him from ripping up the damn piece of paper. The guys backed off after that. The most frustrating part was that they didn’t even skitter away at his heated glares anymore!

“We all saw how you kissed your wife on Christmas,” Jerry had told him when he expressed his exasperation. “You aren’t fooling anybody. You’re just a giant teddy bear.”

“Excuse me?” He had tried to shoot as much venom in his words as possible, but Jerry was either too stupid to recognize the danger he was in or just didn’t care. Probably a mixture of both, Geralt assumed.

“You heard me. Now finish your Gatorade and get a new one. You’re working in the shop the rest of the day. Too damn hot for you out here.”

Geralt had stared after him as he walked away, wishing to every deity he knew that a log would fall on him.

No, that was too mean. He liked Jerry, truly.

So he had hoped he would trip and fall instead.

With a sigh, he had finished the rest of his Gatorade, grabbed a new one from the fridge, courtesy of Mark, and followed Jerry, adjusting the stupid hat Jask—and Mark, the _traitor_ —made him wear to keep him cool to prevent another heatstroke. Geralt only wore it because he knew it made Jask worry less about him.

But that was all beside the point. Jask had been suspicious about his wardrobe all morning, wearing a short sleeved button up (that he had, for some godforsaken reason, buttoned) over a bright pink t-shirt. Sam and Dean were no different, oddly enough. Geralt wasn’t going to question it—his wife was just plain weird sometimes and it wasn’t unusual for him to dress obnoxiously. Nor was it unusual that he could get the boys in on his shenanigans.

“Go on ahead,” Jask said with a flap of his hand. “I can get the pasta salad and find you.”

 _That_ was odd. Jask _hated_ being left behind, for _any_ reason. Geralt narrowed his eyes, squinting suspiciously at his wife. “Why?”

“N-No reason,” Jask replied, nervously twiddling with the bottom of his button up.

Geralt glared at him even harder, trying to determine what Jask was hiding. With purposeful strides, he stalked over to Jask and quickly started to unbutton the shirt. Jask squeaked and tried to shove him away, but they both knew it was a futile effort. The boys made outrageous sounds behind him, but he finally got the shirt unbuttoned and shoved away to reveal big, block black letters proclaiming “GERALT PROTECTION SQUAD” over Jask’s chest. And was that— _bedazzled_?

Fuck no.

“I’m leaving.”

“No, Geralt, wait!” Jask clutched his arm, and they both knew that, if Geralt _really_ wanted, he could break free and walk away. But Geralt was weak when it came to Jask and so he stayed. “The guys just wanted to show their support for you, love.”

“Excuse me?”

Jask bit at his bottom lip, blue eyes searching his for a moment. “After Christmas. Some of the guys wanted to—they did it in good faith, darling. From your seizure last year, they were afraid you were still recovering and when we came out to the Christmas party they were afraid that others might overwhelm you if they didn’t like it— _us_. So they wanted to show you their support and—Geralt, please don’t be mad. They love you.”

What? That was... news to him. Geralt usually didn’t need the protecting—he was the protector, what he was _designed_ to be. It was weird, knowing there was... a _squad_? That his coworkers were actively trying to protect him preemptively from bigotry?

Geralt closed his eyes and breathed deep. What was one day of total embarrassment, hmm? If it would please his wife...

“ _Fine_.”

“Yay!” Jask hastily shrugged out of the button up. When he turned around to throw the shirt back into the car, Geralt could finally see on the back in proud letters “PRESIDENT” which was—okay, sure. That was fine. Jask was his wife. Of course he would go the extra mile and have that printed to stake his claim.

“Whose idea?”

“Hmm?”

“The shirts.”

“Tim, I think,” answered Sam, also shrugging out of his short sleeved button up.

Geralt stared at him, then turned his unamused gaze to Dean who had already discarded his own. Both had bright yellow shirts with that goddamn phrase on the chest and much too pleased grins. Luckily, theirs weren’t bedazzled, too.

“You sure I can’t leave?”

“Nonsense! Come on!” Jask plopped his stupid hat on his head and forbade him from taking it off.

“I’m not at work,” Geralt grumbled.

“But you’re still out in the sun. You’re leaving it on.”

With a groan, Geralt followed after Jask who was proudly carrying his pasta salad, the boys trailing behind. Several cars were parked on either side of the long driveway. He could hear laughter and kids screaming and smell the cooking meat and smoke from the grill before they rounded the house.

Mark had gone all out, apparently. Jerry said he always did, with two giant tents where dozens of tables sat underneath. Under another tent were three tables covered in food.

Mark sure knew how to throw a party, apparently.

And—wait a second.

Geralt glared at all the brightly colored shirts in front of him. Nearly all of his coworkers were wearing the damned Geralt Protection Squad shirts. Even Mark! Even Stella! Even _Jerry_! There was a cheer as someone noticed their presence. He wasn’t prepared to deal with this bullshit at all—

Dean pushed against his back before he could turn and walk away. “Nope,” he said, and Geralt could hear the silly grin. “You need positive interaction. Let’s go, old man.”

“You won’t even _make it_ to see ‘old’—”

Wait. There was Tim.

He suddenly stalked forward, making Dean squawk and nearly fall on his face. Tim smirked as he saw Geralt approach, apparently unafraid of him at all.

What. The. _Fuck_.

“Ah! Geralt!” he called out as Geralt neared. “Like the shirts?”

“ _You_.”

“Geralt?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

Tim squeaked out a sound that was decidedly unmanly and scrambled to get away, much to everyone’s amusement. Geralt even had to hide a smirk. “Now, now,” said Tim, voice shaky as he scrambled around one of the tables. “Let’s not do anything rash, Geralt. _Jaskier_!”

“Geralt, dear,” Jask called out from the food tables where he was placing his pasta salad, apparently unconcerned. “Leave the poor boy alone.”

Geralt stopped stalking after Tim but continued to glare and growl in his direction as he hid behind Walter.

_“Geralt. Stop being feral.”_

He still sneered at his cowering coworker. That was _much_ better. Somewhere behind him, however, there was a slight commotion, someone snickering and muttering about pansies and something probably unflattering about Geralt. Nothing he wasn’t used to. But before he could turn around to see who it was, there was a shout and a thump.

Geralt turned to see Jask standing over one of the newer employees who was groaning and rolling on the grass, cupping his groin. The others stared wide eyed at Jask. They probably had assumed that Jask was nonviolent. Geralt snorted—that was their first mistake. He still remembered, way back when he first knew Jask, the djinn incident and how he had wished a horrible death on a rival. Plus the demons being terrified of him, even after all these years.

As Mark picked up the man—Spencer? Steven? Something like that—Geralt heard him say he could leave and not bother coming to work in the morning. Something warmed in his chest—he hadn’t actually expected Mark to be so severe with punishments on bigotry.

And then Jask just _had_ to jump onto a chair and shout, “Anyone else have something negative to say about my husband? I’ll _fucking fight you_ —”

“Jask,” Geralt said with a roll of his eyes, tugging him down. Jask stumbled and landed pressed against his chest. “Who’s the feral one now?”

Jask just laughed brightly and gave him a kiss.


End file.
